


Off The Record

by Immortalnite



Series: Off The Record (With You) [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Detectives, M/M, Murder, Serial Killers, this is kind of a detective noir type thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:05:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immortalnite/pseuds/Immortalnite
Summary: "Don't dig too deep, Detective. Red isn't your colour." His breath was hot on his ear, and then Goldsworth was gone, leaving Tinsley to stare at his back as he left.~*~Ricky Goldsworth is the prime suspect behind a string of serial murders, and New York City police chief Frank Norris has asked Detective C.C. Tinsley to help close the case.





	Off The Record

**Author's Note:**

> You should listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BXyHA5kWTk), it's what this is based on. And watch the video, of course.

The latest victim’s body was in the front yard of the house of their main suspect, Detective C.C. Tinsley noted grimly as he walked up to the crime scene. Face down in that perfectly manicured lawn, neck at an unnatural angle. The window above the body was open. The police were swarming the yard but, having established a perimeter to prevent their suspect from escaping, not one man had yet gone to knock on the front door. That task, apparently, had been left for him.

How generous of them.

"We've got him this time, detective." One of the officers who'd responded to the call hailed him, a bright smile on his face. "Goldsworth can't get out of this one."

Tinsley nodded blankly, trying to take in the scene before him. This was utterly unlike the rest of the murders that Ricky Goldsworth had committed. He would know, he was the leading detective on the case. He'd been the one to connect Goldsworth to the murders initially, though up until now they'd never gotten solid proof to convict the man.

Typically, Goldsworth would leave the bodies placed more... intimately. The victims would be stripped down, still in their underclothes but all other garments strewn carelessly around. The bodies would be found face up in bed, no sign of a struggle, all evidence suggesting they'd gone willingly to bed with their killer, only to be faced with a knife.

Tinsley remembered the first time he'd seen some of Goldsworth's work. The police had been grappling with it for some weeks already, but they'd made no progress. A friend of Tinsley's from school suggested they ask him for help, and the police chief had reluctantly agreed. He'd shown up on the scene practically green with inexperience.

 

~*~

 

_The woman- no, the body- lay in the bed, lips wet and red. The lacy undergarments that were all the preserved her modesty were slowly turning a murky red from the blood that was still flowing and pooling on her stomach._

_A fresh kill, Tinsley recognised._

_Pressing a hand to his mouth, he carefully construed his face to show surprise rather than the rising wave of nausea he actually felt. Tinsley turned to investigate the room, then excused himself. A few days after, he submitted his first report, planting his suspicions on a man named Ricky Goldsworth, who had no apparent motive but plenty of means._

 

~*~

 

Unfortunately, evidence that would incriminate Goldsworth seemed to vanish as soon as it appeared, leaving Tinsley and the police force baffled but increasingly sure of their suspect's guilt.

With the appearance of another body after Tinsley's introduction to the case, things got more complicated.

 

~*~

 

_It was a man this time, a fit, good looking young man dressed up in only a pair of briefs and a shirt of blood. The knife that had become the murder weapon was near the body this time, a borrowed chef's knife from the kitchen. Tinsley found he could stomach the sight better._

_He left the apartment, intending to do a quick walk around the perimeter of the building. He was sure the police had already done a thorough job, but he wanted to be sure. He followed the brick wall, scanning the sidewalk between the building and the street. He turned the corner, into the alley between the apartment building and the neighbouring office. There was a man leaning against the wall, head turned down as he inspected something in his hands. Tinsley didn't think much of it, until he got closer._

_The man looked up as Tinsley passed and Tinsley nearly gasped. He knew that face. How could he not, he'd been staring at it for the past few days in the precious handful photographs they had._

_Ricky Goldsworth._

_Goldsworth grinned at him, sauntering up to Tinsley. He ran a finger down the lapel of Tinsley's jacket, stopping at the crease. A sharp jerk, and Tinsley found himself with his back pressed into the bricks, Goldsworth nearly plastered to his front._

_"Don't dig too deep, Detective. Red isn't your colour." His breath was hot on his ear, and then Goldsworth was gone, leaving Tinsley to stare at his back as he left._

 

~*~

 

Tinsley should have told someone. He should have mentioned being threatened by the prime suspect in a murder case, if only as a precaution. If he'd told the police chief of the threat, then the police would have evidence to go off of in case he wound up floating down the East River. But Tinsley hadn't. And it was the start of a long, steep decline.

 

~*~

 

_The third body was another man. Tall, skinny, brown hair. A little bit more done up than the rest, with burnt out candles placed around the bedroom. The air was thick with the musky smell of incense. It was romantic, in an utterly twisted, fucked up sort of way._

_"Hey, this one looks kind of like you, C.C." The police chief, Frank Norris joked._

_Tinsley forced out a laugh. "Yeah, shut up, Frank."_

_Goldsworth was waiting for him when he left the scene of the crime, lounging carelessly against a lamp post. He smirked when Tinsley saw him._

_"Hey, baby. Did you like the set-up?"_

_"I'm not a big fan of incense, personally. The candles were a bit much." Tinsley felt like his head was spinning ten feet above his body._

_"I'll keep that in mind." Goldsworth shrugged, then reached out to yank Tinsley down by his tie. "I trust I don't need to refresh your memory on what you need to keep in mind, do I?"_

_His lips were a brand on Tinsley's cheek and his smile was a knife, beautifully deadly. He'd be lying if he said his eyes didn’t follow Goldsworth as he strutted down the street and turned the corner._

_When he went to go back inside the house, Tinsley noticed a footprint in the dirt outside the back door._

_He didn't report it._

 

~*~

 

In the next month, two more murders took place.

In the first murder, a little bit of blood high on the doorway into the bedroom, just a little bit above Tinsley’s eye level, left a partial print. Unfortunately, Tinsley’s jacket somehow brushed away the partial print, turning it into just another smear of blood.

Tinsley had found a piece of hair in the sink of the second murder, black and short and definitely not fitting the long platinum blonde tresses of the victim.

For some reason the hair never made it to the evidence locker. Not that Tinsley would know anything about that.

Goldsworth's self satisfied smirk when Tinsley had passed him on the street the day after spoke volumes.

 

~*~

 

_When Ricky Goldsworth's body count finally hit double digits, C.C. Tinsley realised exactly how utterly screwed he was._

_The victim was a rich drug dealer, someone the police had been trying to prosecute but hadn't been able to nail down with anything. The police were careless with the crime scene, intentionally so. Many of the officers were simply glad to have him done with, even if it was by murder. Tinsley wouldn't have been bothered, except for the words "You're Welcome" messily carved into his bare chest._

_Tinsley left the scene quietly, knowing he wasn't really needed for this one. Predictably, Goldsworth was waiting for him not far from the site._

_"You know, it's very suspicious that you always know where to find me." Tinsley said tiredly._

_"One might start to think I knew where the murders were going to occur. One might start to think I had something to do with them." Goldsworth agreed. "Did you like my little gift, by the way? I know he'd been stumping you for some time."_

_Tinsley opened his mouth, then closed it with a huff. He didn't know how to explain to a serial killer that killing was not an appropriate way to deal with problems. He settled for a head shake._

_Goldsworth, oddly enough, seemed upset by that. His smirk wilted, by a barely noticable amount, but it was enough for Tinsley to see._

_"You... you can't have thought that was something I'd like. I'm a detective, I follow the law." Tinsley said, resigned._

_"You don't seem to care much for evidence collection, that's part of the law." Goldsworth's smirk was back in full force, a note of amusement in his voice._

_"I..."_

_Goldsworth stepped forwards, into Tinsley's personal space. Hands slid up, moving over his chest as though Goldsworth were smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his coat._

_"It's okay. I wanted to see what you would do. Prison wouldn't hold me anyway, baby." Ricky looked up at him with that smirk, and oh, he was very, very close._

 

~*~

 

Tinsley still isn't really sure what exactly happened after that, just that he was alone in his bed when he woke up the next morning. Alone, but not without reminders of what had transpired littered across his chest, across his neck. It was a good thing he wore high collared trench coats.

It became an almost common occurrence after that day. Tinsley would overlook evidence that might incriminate Ricky, shrugging it off to an increasingly frustrated police chief. Ricky would find him, usually after a murder, but sometimes not. Sometimes his doorbell would ring and Ricky would stomp in imperiously, push him up against the wall. Every time, there was that little flicker of fear, that Ricky would stop part way through, that Ricky would pull out a knife and kill him.

That never happened, though.

Things had just... continued. Up until now, anyway. The policeman was right. There was no way for Goldsworth to get out of this.

A sinking feeling in his chest, Tinsley walked up to the front door and knocked. No one else had dared to try to take Goldsworth in, they'd been waiting for him to get there. Police Chief Norris had made that clear.

Tinsley knocked again. Nothing.

With a sigh, he tried the door knob and found it unlocked. Gently, he opened the door and looked around for some sign of Goldsworth, hoping the other man hadn't fled somehow. The door clicked shut behind him.

The rug was thick under his shoes, just as ornate and lovely as the rest of the house. Near the wall, a small white square was on the floor. He bent to retrieve it.

The square was actually a picture, one of the most recent victims, the blonde wife of a restaurant owner.

"He was an off-duty officer. Thought he could come in and question me, take the credit for solving the case." A voice called from above.

Tinsley looked up.

Ricky Goldsworth was coming down the stairs, looking gorgeously rumpled. His pressed black slacks were immaculate, but he was barefoot. His dress shirt was open at the throat, skin smooth and golden. He paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, then stalked forward until he was chest to chest with Tinsley.

"Everyone knows he's not the one who should get the credit for this case. After all, you're the one who figured out it was me." Ricky smirked up at him.

Ricky leaned up on his toes, and for a moment Tinsley was sure this was it, his time to die, but there was only the barest brush of lips on his. Then Ricky was spinning away again, headed into another room with only the shortest glance back over his shoulder.

Tinsley's mouth quirked up on its own and he followed the man, through the small TV room and into the kitchen. Two glasses were sitting on the counter, and Ricky inspected them both before shrugging and pulling out two new ones.

"Want a drink? I got one earlier but I can't remember which one is mine and it'd be very bad if I accidentally picked the wrong one." Ricky's grin was sharper now.

"I'll pass, thanks." Tinsley inspected the windowsill.

Ricky laughed.

"You're not going to be able to walk away from this, you know." Tinsley told him, turning to lean his back against the counter.

Ricky's grin faded. "Why don't you come upstairs with me?"

It was phrased like a question, but it wasn't one. Ricky took a long drink from his glass, then set it down, and let Tinsley follow him up the staircase. The grain was stained dark on the railing, the wood itself carefully carved. The whole house was nice, expensive looking. If Tinsley weren't afraid of the answer, he'd ask Ricky where he got all his money from.

Tinsley stepped behind Ricky into a tidy bedroom. Cream walls, cream carpet, white bedspread, white curtains that hung over an open window, fluttering in the breeze. Ricky turned to look at him, then glanced back at the window with a frown.

Ricky stepped forward and pulled Tinsley towards him by his tie, swinging them around and shoving Tinsley back so he landed on the bed. Tinsley let out a surprised huff and almost stood up, but then Ricky was pushing him back down, crawling into his lap.

There was a knock on the door.

"Ignore it." Ricky hissed through his teeth, a hand sliding around the back of Tinsley's neck. He pulled Tinsley forward, their lips meeting harshly.

Another knock.

"Police, open up! Detective, are you in there?"

Tinsley made a sound, muffled against Ricky's mouth, and pulled back. "I really think we-"

Ricky growled and yanked him forward by his tie into another kiss.

"We're coming in!" There was a crash from downstairs, the sound of an unlocked door being unnecessarily kicked open.

Ricky froze, turning his head back towards the open bedroom door. Tinsley opened his mouth to say something, but Ricky's hand clamped over it before he could get a sound out, his eyes flashing. Ricky lunged forward, his fingers finding Tinsley's gun in his pocket with expert accuracy, as though he knew just where Tinsley kept it. After all the times he'd spent getting Tinsley out of that coat, though, it made sense.

Ricky scrambled off Tinsley's lap as footsteps sounded on the stairs and Tinsley flinched away, bracing himself for the sound of the gunshot and what would follow it inevitably.

Nothing happened.

The footsteps got closer and Tinsley opened his eyes to see Ricky looking at him with an odd expression. Ricky cocked his head to the side, but didn't cock the gun.

"Sorry, baby." He said at last, and pulled his arm back.

"Hey, you! Freeze!"

Tinsley didn't even react as the butt of the gun came down on his head and the world went black.

**Author's Note:**

> there's a second part to this coming soon


End file.
